


Sentinel In A Strange Land

by PsychGirl (snycock)



Category: Stranger in a Strange Land - Robert A. Heinlein, The Sentinel
Genre: Crossover, First Times, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/pseuds/PsychGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are so clueless sometimes.  Fortunately they get some help from some unexpected friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentinel In A Strange Land

## Sentinel In A Strange Land

#### by PsychGirl

Author's website: <http://snycock.livejournal.com>  
  
A weird piece of fluff that was written for Jane Davitt for her birthday.  
Crossover with Stranger In A Strange Land.  
Michael Valentine Smith, Jubal Harshaw, and the definition of love belong to the estate of Robert A. Heinlein. And if you've never read Stranger In A Strange Land, well, you really should.  
This story is a sequel to:

* * *

"Thanks, Jubal."

Jim Ellison accepted the glass being handed to him, the earthy-sharp aroma of the Scotch rising pleasantly to his nose.

"A blessing on those who love us, for they forgive us our faults," Jubal said, raising his own glass, "and fie on those who don't, for they have no taste."

"Hear, hear," Jim echoed, lifting his glass and clinking it against Jubal's. He took a sip of the whiskey and rolled it around on his tongue, savoring the liquid's musky bite, then swallowed, relishing the warmth as it slid down his throat. "Is that salt I taste?"

Jubal smiled. "Why, yes, it is. This is Talisker, single-malt Scotch from the Isle of Skye. Aficionados claim that being made in a place surrounded by salt water gives it a unique taste."

"I'm impressed," Jim said, raising his glass again. "You're a very considerate host."

"Not at all," Jubal replied, waving his hand in a negligent gesture. "So," he continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "you were on this four-day stakeout...."

"And the isolation brought my senses back online," Jim finished. "Then I met Blair, and, well, the rest you know."

"And you've got _five_ enhanced senses?"

"Yup."

"How enhanced?"

Jim grinned. "Well, I've reliably detected sounds up to two, two-and-a-half miles away, but it depends a lot on the type and volume of the sound and what else is going on around me. And Sandburg's measured my vision at about a mile; again, depending on what I'm looking at. I can't read text at that distance, but I can see a fair amount of detail on large objects. He's still working on figuring out how much of a substance has to be present before I can identify it by taste, and smell and touch we haven't really done much with yet." He took another sip of Scotch, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

"Amazing," Jubal said, shaking his head. "The possibilities are staggering. Why, with your police training, you'd make a formidable Fair Witness, just with the sight and hearing alone." He paused. "Now that gives me an idea... FRONT!"

"Yes, boss?" Miriam said, wiping her hands on a towel as she came into the room. She perched on one of the barstools and pulled a notebook out of her pocket, opening it to a blank page.

"Television script. For the Fall lineup. _The Sentry_. `In the jungles of Ecuador, the fight for survival heightened his senses. Now Captain Jack Harkness is a Sentry in the fight for justice. Seeing before others see. Sensing what others can't. An ever-vigilant watchman in the fight against crime'." Jubal tossed back the rest of his Scotch and poured himself another. "Fill in the rest in with the standard first-season action-show template; try to make sure that something blows up in every episode. Oh, and give Harkness a sidekick. How about a short, dark-haired, wise-cracking female ex-cop?"

"Statistics suggest that the show does better - especially among the lucrative 30- to 60-year-old female age group - if both the hero and the sidekick are male," Miriam commented.

Jubal waved his glass at her expansively. "So noted. Make the sidekick a short, dark-haired, wise-cracking male." He turned back to Jim, offering the bottle. "More Scotch?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Jim replied. The whiskey had settled pleasantly in his stomach, giving off a warm glow.

Miriam finished writing and returned the notebook to her pocket. Sliding off the bar stool, she headed for the kitchen. "Dinner in twenty, gentlemen," she said over her shoulder as she left.

"Jim!" The shout came from across the room.

Jim turned and grinned at his hyperactive guide and observer as he barreled across the room towards him; a tall, slender, dark-haired man, with beautiful, almost androgynous features, in tow. "Hey, Chief, how's it going?"

"Man, I can't _wait_ to tell you what I've learned today! Mike's been teaching me to speak Martian," Blair said in a rush, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Want to hear?"

"Sure."

Blair opened his mouth and produced a series of noises that sounded to Jim as if he was gargling an angry cat.

"Uh, wow, Chief... that's, uh... that's really... good."

"It IS! Isn't it, Mike?"

"Blair speaks Martian brightly, brightly, and with beauty," Mike said, smiling. "He learns faster than even my friend Stinky. Blair groks."

"Which is _so_ cool," Blair said, beaming happily at Jim. "I grok. And that reminds me...." He reached for the glass of water that had suddenly appeared on the bar. "Share water with me, my brother?" He took a sip from the glass and handed it to Jim.

Jim took a drink and handed it back to Blair. "May you never thirst," he replied, basking in the radiance of Blair's smile. "So, what else did you learn?"

Blair's grin widened, impossibly, and he moved close to Jim. "Mike's been teaching me to kiss," he said in a low voice.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

"The secret," Blair continued, "is in giving it all your attention. Most people are distracted when they kiss; they're thinking about the presentation they have to give or what's for dinner tonight or whose turn is it to help the kids with their homework. They're not really thinking about what they're doing. They're not giving it their all, so to speak."

"Care to demonstrate, Chief?"

"I would love to," Blair replied, moving closer until he stood between Jim's knees, his hands resting lightly on Jim's thighs.

Jim could feel the anticipation coiling sweetly in his belly as Blair cupped the back of his neck and drew his head forward until their mouths were just barely touching. A shiver worked through him as Blair's warm breath caressed his lips. He could smell Blair's scents: the verdant aroma of the hair products he used; the sharp, minty smell of his toothpaste; the faint musk of sweat; and, underneath it all, the spicy, tangy odor that seemed to belong to him alone, the scent Jim could never ignore, no matter how far he turned the dials down.

He looked deep into those wide blue eyes, marveling at the layers within Blair's irises; the myriad shades and striations of blue they held. Although even those amazing eyes weren't enough to distract him from that lush, pretty mouth with those sinfully full lips, curving up into a smile...

"You ready?" Blair asked softly.

Jim nodded.

And Blair's mouth touched his, gently at first, and then more firmly, commandingly, and, oh, God, it did make a difference, did it make such a difference. It was like standing naked in a sunbeam on a winter's day, when the bite of the air around you gave the light mass and texture as it flowed around your body. Jim was saturated, permeated, filled to overflowing with love and warmth. It felt as though Blair's mouth was everywhere on him at once, caressing, adoring, worshipping, and he had never felt anything so good in his entire life.

Blair pulled away slightly. "Thou art God," he murmured...

* * *

Jim's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright in bed, his heart thumping. What a weird dream. He touched his lips gingerly, the buzz of sensation fading, as was his memory of the dream itself. He tried to recall the details... there'd been something that tasted delicious, something he'd been experiencing with his whole body... and he'd been having a drink with someone, and explaining his senses to him... a guy named Harkness, maybe?

But it was gone, the strands of the dream dissipating like smoke. Jim shook his head to clear it; rubbed his hand roughly over his hair. That was the last time he let Sandburg talk him into that hole-in-the-wall taqueria over on South Street. He'd had gas for a week the last time they'd eaten there.

And now he was having weird dreams. All things considered, he'd rather have the gas.

He glanced at the clock and stifled a groan. Two-thirty in the morning. Too early to get up, but he didn't feel able to go back to sleep. Maybe he'd get something to drink.

Flipping the covers back, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, pulling on his robe. He padded silently down the stairs, stopping by habit to listen at Sandburg's door. Blair was breathing deep and evenly, making soft muttering noises in his sleep, and his heartbeat was steady.

Jim ambled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, contemplating the offerings within. The only soda they had was caffeinated, so that was out. Maybe a beer? But it was the bottled water that drew him, his throat suddenly parched, the thought of the clear, cool liquid inside suddenly irresistible.

The water tasted as good as he'd anticipated, and, as he screwed the top back on, refreshed, Blair stumbled out of his room, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, his hair a wild nimbus around his head, squinting and scratching himself. "Whuzza matter?" he mumbled, "can' sleep?"

"Wanted something to drink," Jim replied, gazing at his roommate in amusement. One of these days he was going to have to remember to leave the camera down here for these blackmail-worthy moments. "What about you?"

"Had a weird dream," Blair muttered, making his way over to the kitchen.

"I told you that getting the Macho Nachos would be a mistake, Chief."

Blair showed him his middle finger, then opened the cabinet where he kept his teas and stared at them.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked after a few moments, slightly exasperated.

"Want something to drink, too," Blair replied, "just not sure what."

"You can share my water, if you want," Jim said, proffering the bottle.

Blair took it, unscrewing the top and taking a long swig. "Thanks." He put the top back on and handed it back to Jim. "Here, I don't want you to get thirsty."

And it was like a huge bell had rung somewhere, only he wasn't hearing it with his ears, but was feeling it, the vibrations resonating through his body. What he did hear was a multitude of voices, speaking ancient and formal words, superimposed on the ones he and Blair had said, echoing in his head. _Drink deep_... _never thirst_... _grow closer_... _share water_....

He looked over at Sandburg, and Blair was fully awake now, staring at him, eyes wide, mouth open in astonishment, and how the hell was it that he'd never noticed how good-looking Blair was, how desirable, with that mass of dark hair, that strikingly carnal mouth, the strong angle of his jaw, dusted with dark stubble? Why had that thought never crossed his mind? Because his body was certainly noticing now.

"Jim? What was... what the hell just happened?"

The dream came rushing back to him then, in Technicolor clarity. He... and Blair... and they were... were.... And the feeling came back as well; like being wrapped in the warmest, softest blanket imaginable. Being cherished, being loved so completely, so thoroughly; down to his very heart, his very being. His throat tightened. He hadn't known it was possible to love like that. To be loved like that.

Did Blair really love him like that?

"You... you said you had... had a weird dream?" he managed to stammer out in response.

"Yeah," Blair breathed, his eyebrows drawing together, his eyes slightly unfocused as he remembered. "I was... someone was teaching me to speak Martian, and...." He broke off, his gaze skittering away from Jim's, and Jim saw his face turn red, heard his heart rate spike.

It would seem that the answer was yes. So now the question was: did he love Blair?

He remembered something he'd read once: _love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own_. Well, if that was the definition, then, yes. He loved Blair.

"I had the same dream," he murmured, stepping close to Blair.

"The same dream? But, Jim, that's... that's imposs--"

"Standard Operating Procedure for us, wouldn't you say?" he cut Blair off with a chuckle. Pushing a hunk of hair behind Blair's ear, he cupped Blair's face in his palm and kissed him.

Blair's mouth was cool, and a little stiff at first, as if he was unsure of himself. Jim traced his tongue lightly over Blair's bottom lip, begging entrance, and, with a stifled whimper from deep in his throat, Blair opened his mouth and Jim plunged in.

Oh, God, this was... Blair tasted so... warm and sweet and good and... it was just like the dream, but even better, because this was real, this was here, Blair was here, under his hands, never leaving again, never letting him leave again...

And he had the vision again; saw the wolf running towards him and they leapt into each other, and the wave of light and warmth and joy exploded outward and flowed through him and into Blair.

He pulled away and Blair swayed, his eyes huge and slightly glazed. "I... uh...."

Jim grinned. Not every day he could render Blair incapable of speech.

Dropping to his knees, he tugged at Blair's boxers, pulling them down to his ankles and freeing Blair's cock, which bobbed gently in front of him, hard and flushed. He slid his hands up Blair's legs, gripping his hips firmly, his thumbs gently stroking the tender strip of skin between hip and groin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of Blair's arousal. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head up and met Blair's gaze.

"Thou art God," he murmured, and took Blair into his mouth.

Blair moaned, spreading his legs apart slightly, one hand braced on the counter, the other clenched in the collar of Jim's robe.

Jim sucked him at an easy pace, running his tongue around the sensitive head and the bundle of nerves just beneath it. He hummed a little, and listened to Blair's breathing quicken. Blair tasted like leather, and salt, and granite; strong and earthy and solid. Grounding him, as always.

It wasn't long before Blair's breath was coming in short pants, and his hips were thrusting forward erratically, his fingers tightening convulsively. "Oh, man...." he gasped, "oh... oh, Jim... yes...."

He felt Blair's muscles tense under his hands, and then Blair came, the shudders rippling through his body like silk. Jim swallowed, savoring the bitter tang of semen. Rising to his feet, he pulled Blair close; cradling the warm, pliant body against his.

Blair lifted his head, his sleepy, half-lidded gaze unable to hide the radiant joy in his eyes. "Thou art God," he murmured softly, like a benediction

* * *

"Mike!"

"Yes, Jubal?"

"Why don't you give those two some privacy?"

"Yes, Jubal. What is privacy?"

"That means don't watch, son."

"Why not, Jubal?"

"Well, because... well, there are some things... you see, in polite company... aw, hell! Trying to explain this to you is like trying to put pants on a goldfish."

"Why would you put pants on a goldfish, Jubal?"

"Well, you wouldn't. That's the point. Listen, Mike, suffice it to say that Jim and Blair would feel... embarrassed if they knew you were watching them."

"But why? They share water and grow closer. It is beauty."

"I know, son, but... just trust me, they'd be upset."

"I do not want them to be upset. I will not watch."

"Okay. Come on, we've got some more work to do."

* * *

They lay sprawled together in a tangle of limbs on Jim's bed. There had been some reciprocation on Blair's part, then reciprocation of the reciprocation by Jim, and then some more reciprocation from Blair, and now they were sated and sweaty, too drained to even pull the covers up around them.

Jim watched the moonlight move across Blair's body, blue-white; paling his skin, silvering his hair; outlining a muscular shoulder, a calf. He slid his fingers idly through Blair's unruly mop of curls, massaging his scalp gently as he did so.

Blair sighed and turned his head towards Jim. "Told you the water was nice," he murmured, smiling without opening his eyes.

"You were right, Chief," Jim replied softly, "you were right."

* * *

End

Sentinel In A Strange Land by PsychGirl  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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